


5 Things Imani Izzi Never Was, Had, Wanted or Did

by Vashti (tvashti)



Category: Coming to America (1998)
Genre: 5 Things, Chromatic Yuletide, Female Friendship, Gen, Misses Clause Challenge, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Women Being Awesome, Women Figuring Out How to be Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5470772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvashti/pseuds/Vashti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone forgets the girl who got left behind, but Imani Izzi never forgot herself.  The daughter of queens is still royalty, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Imani Izzi Has Never Known Her Own Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Niki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niki/gifts).



> Thank you to my beta readers mrkaplan and Valencia!
> 
> For all of us who are still trying to figure out how to be awesome.

“So…that is that then,” Imani said to Martha, her attendant, after the door had closed on the last of Imani’s heavy gold train. “At least Mama and Papa do not ride with us.”

“It would not be possible to fit all of us and your dress,” Martha said. 

Imani snorted indelicately. It was true, of course. Martha and her immense gele were on the other side of the stretch limo they shared, but it was the immense train of Imani’s dress that took up all the space between them. Between the embroidery, the cloth of gold and her high heels, Imani wanted nothing more than to stretch out on her side of limousine, but the weight of her dress prevented her. And unless Martha worked off her headdress, there was no way the other woman would be able to help her mistress without overbalancing in the moving car. That didn’t stop Imani from throwing an imploring look at her attendant.

Both of Martha’s eyebrow went up. “Not on your life.”

The woman loved that headdress. It was almost as wide as those worn by the Kasu’Salan queens of old, before the kingdom was enfolded into Zamunda more than a hundred years earlier. There was a portrait of the last Kasu’Salan queen, Imani’s great-great-grandmother Queen Maketa, in the furthest reaches of the palace’s Southern wing that wore a strikingly similar headdress. It was wider than Martha’s, of course. Imani liked to hope that the artist had exaggerated.

Imani abandoned her imploring expression with a sigh. "Now what am I to do?"

"You could always join your one of your sisters' houses," Martha said.

"And forever be under their thumb?" Imani would have spat, but they were in a moving vehicle. "Prince Akeem was my ticket. I did not spend all of those many hours learning everything he likes for nothing. I had a plan."

Martha cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you liked some of those things you spent all if those many hours learning."

"Not important. I had a plan."

"You have already said that."

"He would have never suspected his perfect wife," Imani went on as if Martha hadn't spoken. "And by the time he tired of me, he would have found it impossible to put me aside in favor of another mire beautiful and younger."

At Martha's questioning eyebrows (why weren't Imani's eyebrows so expressive?), she said, "It would have taken him fifty years, of course."

"But of course, my lady." The words were belied by her smirk and saucy tone, but Imani chose to ignore it. She had had a plan, and no part of that plan included being thwarted by the fickle nature of a prince's libido. Whatever face she had to wear in public, she still would have been his wife...and he would have been her husband. 

So many things ruined. Her parents had sought a closer connection to the crown, a rightful return of Kasu'Salan royal blood to the throne. She had sought her power and independence. From the very day that the King and Queen had approached her parents for the betrothal, Imani had carefully studied Queen Aoleon. Her Majesty wielded authority more subtly than the king, but if you observed closely you could see that it was HER power wielded. Her voice held its OWN authority. Within the sphere of her position she was independent to all except the King Jaffe. 

No one had foreseen that the King and Queen might accede to Prince Akeem's wishes. Mama and Papa and even she herself had made a terrible miscalculation. They'd heard about it from one of their spies in the palace. The Prince was going to America to sow his royal oats. Officially, the wedding had been postponed. Unofficially...

"What am I going to do, Martha?" Imani wanted to drop her head into her hands, but the band's in her hair were too heavy. Every step was a balancing act. She scowled suddenly. "Someday I shall be the one to make him hop on one foot and bark like a dog."

Not knowing what had happened -- no one knew what had happened -- Martha could only stare. "I know you are unhappy, my lady, but isn't that expecting too much from the future king of Zamunda? I am sure he had no sense of balance."

Imani didn't know what to say. "I...I...Of course you are correct."

"Subira will be waiting for you when we arrive home," Martha said with that air of confidence that Imani admired. "She will know the best way to go forward." Martha said things as if by virtue of her having said them they must come true.

Imani nodded. "I am sure you are right. Subira will know what to do."

"My lady, you already know what to do. What you do not know is how to do it."

And because Martha had said it, it must be true.


	2. Imani Izzi Never Learned from Her Mistakes

"I have seen hippos more graceful!" Subira snapped at her mistress as she very nearly caught the Imani across the knees with her stick weapons.

"Were you watching that old children's story when you should have been calling your father?" Imani snapped back as she came out of her roll several feet away. She'd overdone it. At least the heavy rings at the end of her high ponytail hadn't smacked her. "Again?"

"You know of that?" 

Imani smirked. "I know--" She ducked the fire-hardened balls her retainer aimed at her head. "--much more than I am credited for."

Subira tucked her sticks into her belt. "If you knew more you would have been able to lob those back at my head." 

Before the last word had left her lips, she had launched herself into an impressive series of front flips, quickly covering the distance between the two of them.

And forcing Imani to back up, lest she be kicked or head-butted. "It's not so easy while protesting my superiority in all things."

Seeing that Subira would soon have her at the wall, Imani turned and ran toward it. And scrambled up when she would have run into it. She caught the ropes that had been placed there before either she or Subira had entered the room. 

Knowing her retainer wouldn't be far behind, Imani wasted no time kicking off the wall. One arm outstretched, she flew toward a floating walkway, snagging the lip as soon as she was near. There had been one closer, but it would have required climbing. Surely Subira would have caught her.

The suspended platform swung hard as Imani caught the edge. She waited until it's return swing to pull herself up. 

"Good!" Subira called from somewhere over Imani's head. "At least this time you won't tip it over."

Imani looked up to find her retainer standing on the higher platform that she had disregarded. "But I did not fall off."

"I suppose," Subira said with poor grace. She leapt for the nearest rope. Then leapt again as it swung closer to those holding Imani's platform.

"Can you not cede victory, Subira?" Imani said, watching as the other woman snagged a third rope.

"You have not won anything yet, my lady!" Then she caught one of the ropes holding up Imani's platform.

It swung, just as it had when Imani had caught it, but this time Imani used the upswing to push her into the upper ropes.

"Why do you run, my lady?"

"Not running!" Imani dropped onto the platform, violently upsetting it...and the ropes Subira clung to. 

Surprised, Subira cried out as she lost her grip. Imani ran the length of the platform, easily compensating for its instability after a decade of mornings just like this one with her retainer. The retainer she had surely killed. 

Imani leapt for the nearest rope add she reached the edge of the platform. She had only glimpsed Subira, but the woman seemed far too still. Quickly, Imani jumped from rope to rope, dropping lower with each one until she was tumbling to the floor.

"Subira! Subira!" 

Imani half scrambled, half ran the short distance until she was on her knees beside her retainer and friend, hands on the woman's shoulders. "Subira!"

Suddenly the world tumbled around her, until Imani's head cracked the hardwood floor and her breath whooshed out of her. Her eyes had closed reflexively. Subira was sitting on Imani's chest. A fighting stick was pressed hard against Imani's throat.

"You must remember that everything is not always as it seems, my lady," Subira said, huffing and blowing through her mouth as if she had run far.

"And also that there are consequences for your actions." Her voice had climbed as she spoke, until it was a pained whine. 

"Subira?" Imani croaked. She dared to push up against the weapon at her throat. 

Gasping in pain, Subira collapsed, unable or unwilling to hold herself up any longer. She tried to roll away from Imani out of habit only to bite off another pained cry. 

Imani was on her knees, hovering over her friend and retainer, in an instant. "What is it? What causes this pain."

"I believe...I believe...oh..." Subira took a couple of deep breaths before trying again. "I believe I have broken my arm. Hopefully in several places or I am not worthy to be called your lady-in-arms."

Imani had begun examining Subira one she confessed to the injury. She ignored the last bit. She loved her retainer as a sister, often preferring the other woman her actual sisters, but she was far too dramatic when hurt or sick. She had been so even when they were children.

"What is the 'lady-in-arms' nonsense?" Imani said as she levered Subira into a sitting position. "Am I queen to need bodyguard or armor bearer?"

Eyes closed and face lined by pain, Subira said, "You could be. If you wanted it."

Imani was squatting beside her friend. "I did, but now that is not important."

Subira's eyes snapped open. "Your future is very important, Imani."

"So is your wellbeing." With that, Imani pulled her friend in close then, grunting, stood with her in her arms. They swayed a little before Imani reestablished her center of gravity.

"What do you think you're doing, Imani Izzi! It is my arm that is broken, not my legs."

"I am taking responsibility for the consequences of my actions by taking you to the physician."

"I can walk!"

"But it is faster this way. And it will make me feel better. Come, let us go."

"You and your feelings..." Subira muttered, but she didn't protest again until they were in the Izzi family doctor's offices.


	3. Imani Izzi Never Had Anyone on Her Side

When asked about it later, years after the event by someone who suddenly realized that she must have been there, Imani will insist that she is the one who refused Prince Akeem the second time around. “I had already moved on,” she will tell the interviewer. “In the months when His Majesty was getting his head sorted, I too was sorting myself out. Fortunately, for everyone involved, I had got it together before he did or we would not be having this interview.”

“Why, no,” the interviewer had said laughter in his voice, “I would be interviewing the Queen of Zamunda.”

“Because interviewing the Zamunda's first woman Ambassador to the UN, it's first and most titled International Martial Arts Master, world renowned gymnast and the godmother to all of Their Royal Highnesses is a blow to your professional pride?”

The interviewer had stumbled in his efforts to backtrack -- of course he hadn't meant anything of the sort -- while his producer had been busy wishing it was still the 1980s and the faux-pas could be edited before ever reaching the public. As it was, the network was renowned for its live, streaming interviews. Social media, he knew, would eat it up.

But that was many years in a future that Imani couldn't yet see. What stood before her now was a flabbergasted royal retainer, an infuriated father, a strangely silent mother, and her own retainer, also silent but far more supportive. Subira stood behind her lady, close enough to touch. The warmth was welcome in the artificially cooled antechamber to the throne room. Although if her father, she could almost hear Subira say, grew anymore angry he might set the room ablaze.

"You are refusing Prince Akeem?" the royal retainer asked a fifth time (Imani had begun counting after two).

"I am," she said, bowing with utmost respect.

"I must tell Their Majesties." He'd said that three times.

"You must," Imani said again, as she bowed. Again.

"You are sure, Miss Imani Izzi. You are certain that you wish to reuse Prince Akeem?" Six times...

"I am." And she still was.

Imani had not missed that her father's gave became more and more flushed with each stayed refusal. Neither, apparently had her mother.

"Sir, why do you not go speak with Their Majesties," she said to the retainer. (He had a name, but it was all Imani could do not to call him "the big one", as Martha had, though she had been comparing him to the Queen's very slender lady-in-waiting at the time.)

He bowed. "As you say, Lady Izzi. Perhaps this would be an appropriate time to discuss this unprecedented decision," he said with no small amount of wonder, or perhaps shock. "Before the King and Queen are arrived."

Her father, the Colonel, rounded on Imani the moment the door closed. "How could I have raised such a foolish daughter! In all of Zamunda -- no, in all if Africa, there is not such an ungrateful, spiteful, foolish child as this one! There is nothing your sisters would not have done for the promise if becoming the future Queen of Zamunda! If only I could exchange you for one of them. Zuri would have captured him with her beauty from the start. Nyah would have had already had in place a plan for the possibility, the mere possibility of rejection. And Asha --"

"Who would dare," Imani muttered. But not softly enough, if the steam now pouring out of her father's ears was anything to go by. 

His voice suddenly an octave deeper, he said, "You have not only brought disgrace upon the heads of your parents, but by your foolishness you dishonor the people of Kasu'sal."

He took a step towards Imani, and Subira, standing behind her, took a step closer.

Then her mother spoke again. "Emmanuel, King Jaffe and Queen Aoleon will arrive shortly. Do you want this child to speak to them with such nonsense in her mind?"

He huffed. "Never!"

"Then I shall take rebellious child aside and speak sense to whatever little mind is under all that thick hair. You calm yourself...you are, after all, a high ranking Colonel of the Zamundan armies." It was a rebuke, but said in her mother's gentle manner Emmanuel Izzi did indeed seem to calm.

Imani hardly dared to even think of him as anything other than "her father, the Colonel".

"Their Majesties shall arrive shortly," her mother continued. "Shall I send for a servant to ensure everything is proper?"

Gesturing with a hand, he asked why Subira couldn't manage it.

"As Imani's most faithful companion, she must also hear the words I shall say so that she may remind our daughter of them at every turn." So saying, she began to lead both Imani and Subira to the door. "It is a pity that she had not been permitted to accompany our daughter the first time," she said from the door. "How kind of Their Majesties to make allowances this time."

Only Subira's long, bony fingers kept Imani from stopping in surprise. Although it had never been said, both she and Subira knew that it was her father, the Colonel, who had forbidden his daughter's retainer from accompanying her lady to the capital. Everyone knew. In a rare show of solidarity, the Izzi sisters had gathered in Imani's quarters (quite haphazardly, if the truth were to be known) to dissect their father's motivations the day the announcement had been made. Pride and miserliness, they had decided, were their father's primary reasons. He didn't want to give the impression that he couldn't protect his own daughter without her military trained attendant and, more importantly, he didn't want to take on the added expense of he could help it. Martha, it was decided, would do just fine. Their mother had never voiced her opinion.

Her mother was blaming it all on her father. The Colonel. Emmanuel Izzi. 

Subira's long fingers kept Imani moving beyond the door in the direction of one of the servants stationed at regular intervals in the expensive hall.

Her mother moved around them, approaching the liveried man. "We need a place in which we might speak privately until King Jaffe calls for us."

The servant had come out of his rigid attention as soon as they were near enough to speak. "Yes, Lady Izzi. Please follow me."

"Preferably a room with a world map or atlas."

* * *

"How quickly can you arrange for travel to Wakanda, Subira?"

Imani frowned at her mother. "Why--"

Subira cut her off before she could finish her question. "It is being held Namibia this year, Lady Izzi."

"How are political relations between Zamunda and Namibia of late?" she asked moving her finger on the map she was leaning over to the more appropriate location.

Imani's frown deepened. "They are reasonable, Mother," she said before her retainer could, "but why does it matter?"

"Very good. We shall have to call upon too many favors as it is."

"And _why_ are we calling in favors, Mother?"

Lady Asha Rachel Izzi slowly straightened to look her daughter in the eye. "Has my willful daughter decided to abide her parents and the agreement she made, and marry Prince Akeem?"

"He broke faith first, Mother."

"Yet he seeks restitution and you seek to flee. If that not so?"

Imani stiffened her spine. "It is so."

Her mother turned from her. "Then we must find a place for you to go."

Now Imani did feel weak. "I am to be exiled?"

Both Lady Izzi and Subira laughed. Imani scowled at the. "You would not find it funny if it were you!"

Lady Izzi and Subira sobered at Imani's distress, although Subira did snort, occasionally, in quite an unladylike fashion. Far more sympathetic, Lady Izzi moved from the map in its table and approached Imani. She took her hands in both of hers. "My daughter, we only want what is best for you...what will make you happy without tearing the nation apart or beggaring the Izzi family coffers."

"I suppose that is reasonable..."

"This plan has been in place for so long, your father has forgotten. Do not worry. Your mother will make it so that he remembers."

For the first time all day, Imani smiled. "Thank you, Mother."

Returning the smile, Lady Izzi dropped her hands. "Now, Subira, let us plan while we can."

All but pushing her lady out of the way, Subira went to join Lady Izzi at the map table. "Oughtn't we strategize how to approach the Colonel?"

"I have something in mind. Do not be distressed."

Imani stomped her. "I will not be ignored as if I were a child. Not any longer. If I can refuse a prince, I have the right to know my own future."

"You are not to be exiled, child!" Lady Izzi turned, annoyed for the first time. Imani shrunk from her mother's ire. Colonel that her father was, it made him somewhat predictable. Her mother's mild manner, on the other hand hid a breadth of emotions as wide as the Savannah and as changeable. "Have I not already said so?"

"No?" Imani couldn't help turning it into a question. It had probably been rhetorical.

Lady Izzi turned to Subira. "Did I truly not?"

"N-Not in so many words, my lady..." Subira looked as if she wished to flee.

Lady Izzi threw her hands up. "I suppose such loyalty cannot be bought," she muttered, then said, "We are determining how best to get you to the Pan African Martial Arts, child! Or has that longing gone with your desire to be Queen of Zamunda? I thought you enjoyed your martial arts training."

"I...I do. I did not think that you had noticed."

Lady Izzi scoffed. "Did you really think that you all odd this was only to make you the perfect wife for Prince Akeem?"

Imani nodded, unable to do anything else.

Arms outstretched, Lady Izzi left the map table entirely and crossed the short distance between them. "Oh my daughter," she said enfolding Imani in her arms. She pressed a kiss to Imani's hair, at a loss for words herself. "Oh my daughter."


	4. Imani Izzi Was Never Strong or Bold or Sure of Herself

Imani paused as she crossed one of the many courtyards that were characteristic of the royal palace. They were so many, in fact, that unguided visitors were found often lost between them, unable to distinguish one from another. As a daughter of one of Zamunda's top Colonels, and expected future royal, Imani had been to the palace often, learning both its physical and political ins and outs. She was only lost when she wanted to be.

It also meant that she knew where all the restrooms were. Zamundan formal wear was beautiful but terribly difficult to navigate when nature called. Her own Kasu'Salan inspired dress, a more conservative variation of the dress she'd worn for her failed engagement, was little better. Needless to say, lines for restrooms during formal functions were the stuff of legends and nightmares. More feuds were started while waiting for relief than in council meetings or in bars.

Then there was the small matter of no one knowing that SHE was no longer marrying Prince Akeem outside of the parties directly involved. Including the prince. With only a few hours until the ceremony, it was paramount that she not be seen...that all in attendance assumed she was the one getting ready to become a princess instead of an American named Lisa. They'd not met, but based on the description she'd heard through others -- her father and eldest sister, ___, mostly -- she would not be hard to pick out of a crowd. 

Which was why Imani had now come to a full stop in the middle of the palace's many courtyards. There, down one of the long corridors that branched off at the compass points stood a tall pecan-brown woman, made pale and sickly by the white monstrosity someone was trying to pass off as a wedding dress. It had to be the prince's queen-to-be.

Had the servants done this to her? Despite Imani's time spent in the palace she would have placed a hefty wager on the palace staff's loyalty to the royal family, to any Zamundan's loyalty to the royal family, but she would have never placed the same wager on their loyalty to herself. She had been prepared for sycophants seeking to use a connection to her to achieve a closer connection to the future king, but the genuine affection the royal family inspired I'm it's people? That would have had to be earned. So what were they doing to this poor girl and, by extension, King Jaffe and Queen Aoleon? It was nigh unthinkable.

Decided, though she hasn't realized there was anything to decide on, Imani changed direction and strode toward Akeem's Lisa and her attendants.

Though Lisa was facing Imani, she was focused on some detail of the dress and didn't see Imani's approach. 

"What is this?!"

Everyone including, maybe especially, Lisa startled.

Imani ignored them. "What is this? What is this?" She came close enough to flip the peplum on Lisa's dress in contempt.

To her credit, Lisa recovered from her surprise quickly. She pulled herself fully upright and met Imani’s eyes. “And who do you think you are?”

“I am Lady Imani Izzi. The Izzi family is close to the royal family. My father is Colonel Emmanuel Izzi, part of King Jaffe’s royal council.” She cut her eyes at the attendants, daring them to say more. “And such a thing…” Imani sneered at the dress. “…is not fitting for a future Queen of Zamunda.”

Before Lisa could respond to that, although her face had become a mask of anger, Imani turned her head and spoke to the nearest attendant directly. “Is this how you think of Their Majesties King Jaffe Joffer and Queen Aoleon? Is this how you treat the beloved bride of Prince Akeem? Is this what you desire for the world to see when photos of this day are sent to the international press?”

The women around them reddened with shame. They hadn’t been thinking of the far reaching effects of the white monstrosity. Almost as one they began muttering their apologies, eyes averted and heads hanging.

“Hey!” Lisa cut in. “Don’t do that! That is so unfair! It’s not their fault this dress was meant for someone else.”

And now Imani reddened. It was to have been _her_ dress. Oh. For a moment she was rendered speechless as she studied the white thing with new eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t so monstrous after all. Perhaps it was merely meant to fit a woman of a different shape and different complexion than the one who wore it now. Against her own deep brown skin, the pure white would have seemed to glow. It would have offset the rings of station in her hair and on her arms. She would have been impressive. 

On Lisa…

“You are right,” Imani said, conceding the point. “The dress is not their fault and I should not berate them for it. However…that no one was thinking of the king and his image and the image of Zamunda is unacceptable.”

Lisa huffed. “That’s still not fair. They’re attendants…servants…why should they be all that invested in what the world thinks of King Jaffe—“ Behind her, the ladies all gasped. “—or even Zamunda?”

“They are servants in the royal household! Even before the world, how the royal family is perceived by the Zamundan people is very important! They must respect the King—“

“Even if he’s not respectable?” Lisa said with a cocked brow and hands on her hips.

Imani’s eyes widened. “Of course the king is respectable! But it is not enough to be so if you do not present respectability as well. The people of Zamunda gauge the health of the nation on the prosperity of the king and his family. When the royal family is well, the nation is also. And they take pride in knowing that, although small, we are peaceful and self-sufficient. There is nothing for outside reporters to speak about Zamunda except her increasing wealth and gossip on her royals. Such things get old. There are not many nations that can say the same.”

Rushing along again, Imani said, “I understand this is all very different from America, but you must remember that you are no longer living your life for yourself, but for the people.” Imani could see the attendants all nodding behind Lisa. One of them must have caught her eye, because Lisa quickly twisted her neck to see what they were doing. “Appearance is not all that you do and all that you are about. There isn’t enough beauty in the world to cover over a corrupt, failing government. My grandmother used to say that the stench of a decaying antelope cannot be hidden forever. But appearance is not _un_ -important. The people do not know you. The press does not know you. The world does not know you. It is important that you make a good first impression, or the fierce love Zamunda has for its Prince can turn to hatred of you.”

Imani braced herself for another strong retort from Lisa, with her flat American accent, but the woman appeared thoughtful. “I can see what you mean. I suppose.”

“Oh…good, then.”

Lisa looked down at herself. “So then what are we gonna do about this thing?”

“Burn it?” one of the attendants eagerly suggested. All the women laughed. 

Still smiling, Imani said, “We must find you another color, Princess. This white leaves you washed out.”

“And a different style!” Lisa added as she pushed down on hips she didn’t have. “How about off-white?” Lisa suggested. Around them, attendants had moved into action again as they searched for a new dress.

Imani frowned. “I do not believe off-white will help.” She studied Lisa intently. “But a different style would be a vast improvement. This mermaid is not for you. You do not…ah…” Imani really wasn’t there to bring down Lisa, and so she found it difficult to tell her why she looked bad in the terrible dress.

“If you’re trying to say I don’t have any hips, don’t worry…I know. My little sister likes to remind me every chance to get.”

“You have sisters?”

Lisa shrugged. “Just the one, Patrice, and she’s plenty. I take it you have sisters, then?”

“Oh yes…Asha, Zuri and Nyah. All older”

“Three older sisters and you’re the baby. Wow. I’m the oldest and I think that’s a lot of sisters. What’s it like being the baby? I can never ask Patrice because we’ll just start fighting.”

Before Imani could answer, attendants began to appear with dresses in hand. Imani had dismissed three out of hand before noticing hadn’t voiced an opinion at all. “Do you not have an opinion, Princess?”

“Um, mostly I’m surprised by how not white they are?”

“You were expecting a white dress?”

“It’s tradition?”

Imani’s brow furrowed. “Where?”

“I guess not here. In America, the bride wears white”

Smiling Imani said, “You are not in America anymore, Princess. You are in Africa. You are in Zamunda. You are living in a fairytale. What color do _you_ like?”

Lisa turned to the five attendants holding dresses in their hands. “You know…I kind of like the pink one.”

“Would you like to try it on, Princess?”

Grinning, Lisa turned from the dress to look Imani in the eyes. “I think I would like to try it.”


	5. Imani Izzi Never Lived a Fulfilled Life

Ambassador Imani Izzi flipped her fur stole over her shoulder. It wasn’t as fashionable to wear real fur on the streets of New York as it had once been – despite the proliferation of faux fur. Imani didn’t care overmuch. The fur was nearly as old as her oldest nephew, and she was an old woman. She could proudly say that her years on the martial arts circuit and then as a politician hadn’t taken an outward toll. She stood as straight she ever did. Her hair was as thick as it ever was, though graying. She no longer had the patience to wear it as long as she once had, but the bracelets of station around her wrist didn’t weigh her down any more than they ever had.

And her mind...her mind was sharper than that fool of a reporter whose interview she’d left. It had all been broadcast live, both over the air and over the internet. Imani was all but certain that she had acquitted herself in the face of the young man’s foolish question. As if all the she had accomplished were rendered void because she had decided not to accept Prince Akeem’s offer in marriage. It wasn’t the first time she had run into such attitudes, but she expected better of this American news station. 

It was over now, and it did not do her well to dwell on it. According to her assistant, the segment had garnered positive feedback (in her favor) on several social media sites. The young woman had gone ahead of her to fetch Subira and the car. Imani’s old friend had come with her to New York City so that they might spend some time together before the King’s next assignment took her halfway around the world. Between both their busy schedules and Subira’s children, she still had little ones, this trip was a rare treat. There was no point in letting one sexist comment derail her.

Imani fetched her phone from her purse and checked the screen. She liked to fix the volume when she thought about it. Otherwise, she was well known among her staff for putting her phone on silent and then missing all her calls and messages because she’d forgotten to return the volume to its previous state. 

She held the phone in her hands as she waited for her assistant to return. If anything happened, either she or Subira would contact her. It was best to be re—

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

Giving her head a little shake, Imani looked down at the girl shyly standing before her. What little face Imani could see was as dark and rich a chocolate brown as her own. The girl appeared to be no more than ten…perhaps twelve.

“Yes, my dear. What can I do for you?” Imani scanned the sidewalk around them. She caught the eye of a lighter-skinned woman, waiting patiently off to one side. They exchanged nods.

“I, um…” The girl shot a glance over her should at a woman who had to be her mother, who nodded. “I, um, I wanted to take a selfie with you?”

Imani’s eyebrows shot up to her hair. “A selfie? With me?” Not for the first time, she was glad to be surrounded by her nieces, nephews and godchildren, otherwise she might not know what the child was asking for.

Blushing, the girl nodded quickly and sharply. “My mom, she used to watch your martial arts tournaments with me when I was really little, and now I do martial arts and I watch your tournaments because they inspire me to try more.”

Tears pricked Imani’s eyes. “I inspire you, my dear? How do I do that?”

The look of incredulity on the girl’s face was so earnest that Imani had to smile. 

“There’s not a lot of black girls doing martial arts, even though when I was little we used to play that we were ninjas and samurai and knights and stuff all the time. Sometimes it seems like black girls get to do all the things they want to do.”

“How very right you are, my dear. Yes, I will take a selfie with you.” Imani came close to the girl. “Can we take two? One with my phone as well?”

The girl nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Mmhmm!”

“You know, there are not nearly enough girls like us around, doing what they really want to do, even when other people tell them they shouldn’t want to do that.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “That _does_ happen to me! People telling me I shouldn’t do martial arts! Kids at school say ‘black girls don’t do that’. Even people in my neighborhood and sometimes my family. But Mommy tells them to leave me alone and she tells me to keep up the hard work”

“How does that make you feel when people saying ‘black girls don’t do that’?”

“Hurt.” The girl glanced down. “Sad.” She looked up again and caught Imani’s eyes. “But it makes me angry, too!”

Smiling, Imani said, “It used to make me angry as well. It made me decide to be the best ever so that they would have to ‘eat their words’.”

“Did it work?”

“It took some time, but eventually it did work. And now not only do I have multiple black belts, but I am also an ambassador to America from a foreign nation. Use your anger wisely, Miss… What is your name, my dear?”

“Sarai Carter.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sarai. I am Ambassador Imani Izzi.”

Sarai giggled. “I know that.”

“Just testing!” Then Imani Izzi, multiple black belt, first female Ambassador to America from Zamunda, crouched down to take a selfie, or two, with a little girl she hoped would reach higher and go farther than Imani herself had when she grew up.

“Alright. And another one…

“Can we take one with my mom?”

"I was hoping to do that very thing."

[in]Fin[ite]

**Author's Note:**

> It didn't quite go where I wanted it to, but I hope you enjoyed this. Thank you for giving me a chance to explore a bunch of themes without getting too dark about it, and an excuse to create an entire people. Happy Holidays!
> 
> The second line of the summary is based on a quote from Phylicia Rashad speaking of her own daughter.


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